


Broken But Nothing To Fix

by NarryEm



Series: One Direction Erotica/Fluff-fest/Wangst as written by EmilyY [10]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Cutting, Fluff and Angst, Healing, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:42:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NarryEm/pseuds/NarryEm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: could you write an angsty Narry one where Niall is suffering from depression and none of the boys notice and so he feels really alone and such.  And then he falls into self-harm and Harry notices etc etc</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken But Nothing To Fix

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: This was written in early 2013 ish, meaning that my writing was not up to my current standards and I didn't understand concepts of depressive disorders or anything like that.

Niall burrows further into the warmth of his bed. A minute ago, he decided (foolishly) to check his Twitter feed.

He shouldn’t have.

Even after tow and a half years, some of their ‘fans’ love to declare their hate for him. Last year, lots of girls went headers over his new hairstyle; and again when he got braces for is crooked teeth. They would obsess over his Derby-related tweets one minute in the next bash him with hate comments in the replies. Some sent hate mail (the good old-fashioned one) and threw crumpled-up papers reading ‘fag’ and ‘unworthy’ written on them to the stage.

Fame has done nothing to alleviate the heavy feeling that comes after scrolling through those tweets. Upon signing them to SyCo, Simon warned them about the darker side of fame. The other boys do fine, going on about their lives without a care on their minds. Niall is a carefree person by nature. He wishes that he still is but no, it has left him.

 

The old Niall his family and friends back home knew is gone.

 

In his place is the stranger wearing Niall’s old smile—no longer natural and genuine but forced and believable. This stranger has the same defined, lanky body, dark blond hair often styled up in a sideways quiff, and the same bright ocean blue eyes.

 

But they are not the same.

 

 

[A.N. kinda cutting scene here]

 

 

 

Scarlet pain is the only way Niall can smile for real again; escape from the dark deep abyss of his depression. Cutting is something he hasn’t picked up until reasonably recently. The first time it happened, he panicked and cried for hours for being so weak and pathetic (in his opinion). The second time it happened, he looked at his wrists with a distorted sort of fascination as red streams swirled around the sink drain, slowly fading into pink and then running clear with the icy tap water. The third time it happened, he made a mental note to buy one of those makeup crap to hide the scars he was beginning to collect on his wrists. It’s eerie how the red and crimson lines have a symmetrical beauty to them, in a twisted, dark way.

 

 

[A.N. ok done now]

 

 

It’s three weeks until the headlining tour for the Take Me Home World Tour and he has realised that there’s a big problem. Lou Teasdale likes to dress them in tight shirts, often with short sleeves. Sure he’s got the gist of makeup application down pretty well but what if al the sweat smears it off? Or what if his band mates grab at his wrists and feel the slightly raised imperfections? Well, they wouldn’t care either way. They haven’t even notice his state so why would they or should they care?

 

 

[A.N. whoops again with the cutting scene]

 

 

 

So he runs over to his bathroom and grabs the razor. He feels the edge of it with his thumb lightly. It’s getting dull now so he should switch it up. A part of him notes that he goes through his cutting blades more often than his shaving blades—not that he shaves that often. He got the cold-water tap running and discarded his shirt and boxers carelessly. He has made one mistake of cutting with his boxers on and didn’t quite get the bloodstain out. It was his favourite one too so he was sad to chuck it in the bin. From his hipbones, down, the disgustingly pale skin is covered with perfectly parallel lines. He takes a deep breath, holds it, and presses the tip of the razor onto his skin. A hiss of painful pleasure slips out of his mouth. The blond lifts the metal and inspects the line. He slices into his waist one, two, three more times before whatever sudden onslaught of emotion was. A bitter smile on his lips, he takes a black towel and wets it under the icy water and dabs the fresh wounds with it. He then dresses the cuts and bandages them up with skin-coloured bandages. Once the bloody razor has been cleaned, he stows it away and returns to his bed.

 

 

[A.N. that was the last cutting scene!!! I swear]

 

 

 

Harry is more intuitive that he lets on. over his years with Niall and the other band mates, he has picked up on certain little things. Like how the corners of Niall’s eyes don’t crinkle up as much when he is feigning happy smiles; how he bites his bottom lip whenever other people look anywhere within a close distance of his wrists and hips; how Niall scowls for a brief second when people around him talk about blood or wounds.

 

It’s Harry’s nineteenth birthday and the party is in full swing. All of his important guests with the exception of the blond Irish are here now. Speaking of, the blond’s head bobs up and down the crowd as he makes his way towards the birthday boy.

“Hey mate,” Harry greets Niall warmly. Niall’s reply is muffled as Harry pulls him in for an extra-tight hug. The brunet buries his nose in the crook between the other’s neck and shoulder before pulling back. He’ll be damned if Niall isn’t the best-smelling person he has hugged all night.

Niall pats Harry on his shoulder awkwardly before he goes straight to the bar. He sees Liam and Louis already there, sipping their drinks. They notice him immediately and begin an excited chat about the upcoming tour and Harry’s birthday. The three of them joke about how Harry can drink in some parts of Canada now and Niall pretends to laugh at that. a few minutes later, they leave for Andy’s birthday party.

He looks into his glass of beer forlornly. They always leave him. he’s the carefree cha; he doesn’t need constant company to be happy, right? No one gives a damn about him. The sheathed razor in his back pocket suddenly grows heavier. It’s risky, pleasing himself with the cold metal edge in a public place like this. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

With that in mind, Niall puts the glass back on the counter and goes to the bathroom, the beer hardly drunk. Harry, from a short distance away, notices the blond leaving. He excuses himself form the group of people he has been talking to, he follows behind his mate. Niall ducks into the toilets and Harry is on his heels. The curly-haired boy hears the distinct click of the lock turning. Luckily, the owner of the club has given him a set of keys for the building, not without a knowing, cheeky smile to go with them. Harry was proud of himself for not blushing at that. He slides the key in as quietly as he could and twists the doorknob at an equal volume.

But Niall must have the hearing of a cat because he whips around the basins. His left arm snaps behind his back, quickly but not quickly enough for Harry to miss the shiny object. A shiny razor blade dipped in red. Blood red.

Harry stares at his best mate, his catlike green eyes wide with shock and disbelief. He has notices that Niall has . . . changed but this? he never expected anything of this sort.

Niall is confused when he sees wetness gathering in the green orbs. Why isn’t he disgusted? Horrified? His chocolate curls are a bit unruly from dancing, a bejewelled tiara perched on the top of those soft-looking curls. His ensemble—the navy button down with hearts dotting it, skin-tight jeans, dimples cheeks and the fucking tiara—gives the birthday boy a dangerously feminine allure. And when harry lets lip a tear or two, he bites his trembling lower lip.

“Niall . . . wha—why would you do this to yourself?”

A harsh sneer appears on Niall’s face. “Why shouldn’t I? I’m a worthless piece of shit, ain’t I?”

“No, you’re not! You’re sweet, talented, beautiful carefree.”

Niall lets out a harsh snort at the last word. “Yes, ‘cause cutting is what carefree people do, Haz.”

“You’re gonna stop this.” Harry takes the necessary number of steps to be stood right in front of Niall. You’re gonna bin the blade right now and not get another one. You’re not gonna be left alone for one moment, even when you’re home.’

“How are you gonna do that?”

Harry doesn’t answer. Instead, he grabs the sides of Niall’s neck and pulls him in for a slow, affectionate kiss. It’s unhurried and chaste, just the way first kisses should be like. Niall knows that he has to pull away. Everything and everyone he has touched or talked to ends up hating him or ruining him. At the same time, he can’t. Something about his younger mate is like a magnet: pulls you in and doesn’t let you go. So, to Harry’s surprise, Niall is the first to move his lips. Niall moves against Harry aggressively, wanting to drive Harry away. He isn’t expecting it when Harry matches his aggression for aggression, the underlying passion for passion. It’s all too confusing. Why would Harry even want to kiss him? It’s the Harry fucking Styles. The one who dates older women and award-wining singers across the ocean. He is as heterosexual as they can get. But he can’t be imagining those gentle yet passionate plump lips dancing with his right? Parting to let his tongue in and carouse around the went territory of Harry’s mouth, tangling and fighting for the upper hand, hands fisting in each other’s hair. Rhythmic breathing turn into short, huffed pants and Niall grip Harry’s curls tighter in his cream-coloured hands until his knuckles turn white. Harry moans and covers the other’s hands with his own to loosen them. He succeeds and that’s when he realises that he kind of needs to breathe. Harry pulls back to gasp in some much needed oxygen but his fingers stay locked in Niall’s bleached strands.

“I’ll do it by never leaving your side. I fucking love you and you aren’t supposed to let the ones to love destroy themselves.”

 

 

-

 

 

((March 3))

They are well into the second set of their concert in Dublin, about to sing ‘Little Things’. They are all sat on stools and Niall has gone to the back of the stage to grab an acoustic. Harry whispers to the rest of the band his plans and they nod. They’ve known about Harry’s love for Niall—though they only know the half of it. Harry can never betray Niall by telling anyone about his scars.

 

It’s been a month of falling asleep together and waking up together. At first, the press cottoned on to it and speculated about Narry being real. They denied it, although for Harry, that was torture. He didn’t know when Niall would be ready for love so he had no choice. The scars have faded over time and Niall has grown accustomed to waking up to Harry’s sleeping figure next to him. Sometimes, he would dare himself to press a kiss on the top of his curls after making sure that the younger boy is deeply asleep. He would keep up the charade of keeping away from the curly haired boy because he cant bring himself to fall in love when he is still at a vulnerable state. He can’t.

 

But he also can’t not love Harry.

 

When Niall comes back with his guitar and sits on his stool, his eyes flit towards Harry’s deep green orbs automatically. The shine with the love for him and he wishes that he could return it. He plays the intro to the brilliant song written by Ed Sheeran, losing himself to the music.

 

Zayn starts to song to appear innocuous:

‘Your hand fits in mine like it’s made for me  
But bear this in mind, it was meant to be  
And I’m joining up the dots with the freckles on your cheeks  
And it all makes sense to me’

 

Instead of Liam coming in with his solo, Harry picks it up. Niall throws him a curious glance but he only smiles. Louis, Liam, and Zayn are standing up to step back and let Harry and Niall have the stage.

 

‘You’ve never loved the crinkles by your eyes  
You’ve never loved your stomach or your thighs  
The dimples in your back at the bottom of your spine  
But I’ll love them endlessly

 

I won’t let these little things slip out of my mouth  
But if I do, it’s true  
It’s you they add up to  
And I’m in love with you and all these little things.

 

You can’t go to bed without a cup of tea  
Maybe that’s the reason that you talk in your sleep  
And all those conversations are the secrets that I keep  
Though it makes no sense to me

 

You’ve never loved the sound of your voice on tape  
You never want to know how much you weigh  
You still have to squeeze in to your jeans  
But you’re perfect to me’

 

Harry turns his gaze towards, Niall; trapping him without meaning to. As their chorus begins, the two of them find themselves unable to break the eye contact. Harry’s eyes are starting to look a bit wet and Niall is having a hard time resisting the urge to reach out and do something with Harry.

 

‘I wont let these little things slip out of my mouth  
But if I do, it’s you  
Oh it’s you they add up to  
And I’m in love with you and all these little things’

 

It’s Niall’s turn for his solo now and he tries to steady his voice the best he can. His brain is telling him that if he keeps looking into Harry’s eyes, he will lose it. But his heart wants the comfort of the younger boy’s green depths.

So, going against his rationale, he steps closer to the curly haired singer and sings:

 

‘You’ll never love yourself half as much as I love you  
You’ll never treat yourself right, darlin, but I want you to  
If I let you know I’m here for you  
Maybe you’ll love yourself like I love you, oh’

 

Of course, Niall is singing about himself, mentally changing the you’s to I’s. Pent-up emotions sting his eyes so he blinds hard to keep them at bay.

 

Harry flashes the audience and then specifically Niall his signature grin as he sings:

 

“I’ve just let these little things slips out of my mouth  
‘Cause it’s you, oh, it’s you  
It’s you they add up to  
And I’m in love with you and all these little things.

 

I won’t let these little things slip out of my mouth.  
But if I do, it’s you  
It’s you they add up to  
And I’m in love with you and all your little things.’

 

They swing their mics down in their typical fashion and the last chords of the song echo off the arena. The audience, who have managed to hold off screaming during the song, now erupt into loud cheers and whistles and applause. Niall is finally able to break the trance-like gaze and smiles at the ground. A tear or two glides down his cheek but they go unnoticed as he tilts his head back up.

Only Harry notices.

 

After the show, Niall hurries to the dressing room. Harry is hot on his heels and as soon as he opens the door, the door is slammed shut behind him and locked.

Niall is gripping the brunet’s shoulder’s firmly, blue fired boring into green orbs.

“You would do that for me? Sing in front of thousands about how much you love me?” he demands. Their lips are close, nearly touching.

“Wish I could have told them but management would have gone mental. Besides, as long as you know that I love you, that’s enough for me. I love you no matter what and I will wait forever if it takes you that long to feel it. Don’t think that I’m forcing you to say it back; there’s no way that I’m forcing you to do anything, love.”

Niall blurts, “I love you too.”

Harry freezes. “What?”

“I—” Niall gulps. “I love you too.”

Tears of joy roll down Harry’s cheeks and Niall takes that as his chance to put his lips close to Harry’s. They don’t touch but in a heartbeat, they do. It’s a sweet loving kiss that is made purely of love and adoration.

“I’m so proud of you, babe,” Harry whispers against Niall’s lips.

“It’s all thanks to you. You and your persistent love.”

 

There will be trouble. There will be times when Niall will lash out at Harry over little things. There will be occasions when Niall will cry controllably and Harry will be the only one who can calm him. There will days when Niall won’t want to do anything but curl up in his bed and long for pre-fame days.

 

But through all, Harry will be with him.

 

Because when all lost seems lost and plunder, love will be the echo.


End file.
